I rode Bob D until Jenny’s Bell’s house was only a small red box behind me, and then I stopped to let my pony catch his breath. I’d gone far enough. Around me stretched the plains, so familiar—the sage, the house, even the few clumps of Herefords I saw in the distance. While Herefords are known for their red bodies and white faces, from a distance they look black.
Sitting astride my horse, I breathed in the leather of the saddle and watched cattle amble across the wide plains in front of a house rising like a citadel above the scrub. Every part of me felt at home for a second. This was what I was made to do. This was my destiny.
A great peace settled into my spirit. I knew we’d make it to Nevada, and I knew we’d return to our ranch house in Burlington, rich and victorious, and with the resources to gather up another herd and maybe do it all again.
Bob D tossed his mane and nickered. He wanted to run more, and so we did, until we found a little creek in a gulley below the edge of the plain—a good place to lie low for a minute. The path down to the water had been trampled into a tangle of muddy hoofprints. Most likely our own cows had come here to drink. Dead cottonwood skeletons, trunks thick and gray, surrounded us. I sat on the old wood while Bob D drank. I lifted my face to the sunshine and sighed.
A stick snapped behind me. I wasn’t alone.
(iv)
I whirled to my feet.
Wren stood on a broken limb. Christina Pink meandered behind her. The pony nosed at some grass as if we humans didn’t matter a bit.
Wren and I spent several long moments looking at each other, not saying a word. Was she glad to see me? I couldn’t tell. As ever, Wren’s face showed no feeling except for a shallow little smirk which could mean anything. None of it prolly any good. She slouched a little, her right hand resting on the Colt Terminator holstered at her hip. Bullets filled both belts, the one for her right holster and the one for the left. I wasn’t sure where she had hidden her guns, but they were back on her, tied around her thighs.
What should I say to her? Thank her for saving us? Apologize for pointing a gun at her? Maybe. Prolly. But seeing her, I remembered who she was and how violence trailed her like a bad stink. I couldn’t have watched her beat the truth out of Micaiah, though it did make a certain amount of sense.
She bent, picked up the bone-white cottonwood branch, and threw it at me. I ducked.
Wren’s smirk grew cruel. “If I’d been an unfriendly, you’d be on the ground right now with my Betty knife in your throat. You bring a gun on your little trip, Princess?”
I shook my head slowly. Her being there, throwing stuff and reminding me of my stupidity, completely unnerved me.
“You glad to see me again?” she asked. She kept her lips together when she talked, to hide the teeth she’d lost when she fought the Vixx. I’d seen Wren cry twice. Once when Pilate hugged her. And once over her vanity.
Was I glad to see her again? Not sure.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked.
“Definitely,” I whispered.
“Wondering why I came back after what you did?”
I nodded slowly.
Wren spit into the dust. “There are two rules in life. I learned them from a bad man I fell in love with during my time in the circus. You wanna hear ’em, Princess?”
“Don’t call me that,” I said. I’d already been fighting with everyone—Sharlotte, Pilate, Edger—if Wren wanted a battle, I’d give her one. She’d beat me, but I was feeling tired enough and hopeless enough to go up against her one more time.
Wren talked on like I’d never said a word. “He told me to never let your heart get in the way of a paycheck, and always, always, always, hit ’em right between the eyes. I ain’t never been a part of this goddamn family, not really, and I never will. That’s fine. But at the end of the road is a big paycheck. Ten million dollars for our headcount and another six if your boy ain’t too much of a liar. Where is he?”
“Not sure,” I said.
“Uh huh,” Wren said, clearly unconvinced. “Anyway, my heart wants me to put as much distance between me and you as I can, but I will not let it get in the way of a sixteen-million-dollar paycheck. Not never.”
“That’s a double-negative,” I said. I couldn’t hit Wren with my fists, and I didn’t have a gun, but I could hurt her in other ways. “If you’d stayed in school, you might not sound like such a hillbilly.”
She frowned and spit again. “It wasn’t my goddamn grammar that saved your asses time and again. It was my guns and my fight, which I learned by bleeding. Like I said on the Moby Dick, you got your education, and I got mine. Maybe both are just what this cattle drive needs to get us through.” She paused. “You hurt me, pointing that gun at me. Don’t do it again.”
“Or what?” I asked.
She stepped closer to me, eyeing me. I eyed her back. What did I have to lose?
“Or maybe I won’t be able to forgive you next time. Maybe I’ll let my heart decide such a paycheck ain’t worth it. You need me. You need what I can do. So don’t be stupid. Besides, I thought you were a Christian.”
“You’ve never cared about that.” Getting Wren to church on Sundays had been one of the forgotten labors of Hercules. Still, she’d admitted I’d hurt her, which was one of the forgotten miracles of Jesus.
“Good to see Pilate ain’t dead,” Wren said. “I was worried. I was around even before the Regios got here, but I couldn’t get a bead on Pilate in Jenny Bell’s house. Didn’t see no fresh graves neither.”
“That’s a triple negative,” I said in a whisper.
“Whatever,” Wren said. “I watched your boy until he went into the house and didn’t come out. That was the day you woke up and the Regios came. I hung out, watching, trying to figure out what I should do. Them pulling Pilate out forced my hand. Oh, well.”
“Why’d you stay away so long?” I asked harshly.
She answered me just as rough. “For being smart you sure are stupid. You know anything about strategy? If I’d been there from the start, I couldn’t have shown up to help provide you an alibi. Jesus, Cavvy, think.”
“You could’ve checked in with us and then left.”
“Why? You hate me. So quit pretending you don’t. All you hypocrites. You hate me until it’s gun time, then you’re all real grateful. Like how I just got you out of this last jam. After the blizzard, I found that unit of Regios chasing us. I found ’em. I got ’em. They kept coming after me, and I kept shooting, while the bodies piled around me. It was a party ...” her eyes went away in the memories. “Such a party. A good fight, maybe my best ever.” She talked about it like it was a date and the boy she loved had taken her dancing. Wren didn’t want love out of this world, she wanted mayhem, and she got it. Which was the only reason she came back to us. She was far more interested in shooting people right between the eyes than she’d ever be in a paycheck.
She leveled her gaze at me. “They’re tough skanks, Cavvy, and if they get us all together, we won’t survive it. I didn’t like spying on you, and I don’t like being out here, sleeping hard, but it’s better I’m out here alone watching over you.”
She waited for me to reply, but I couldn’t find the words. My anger had faded, and I was feeling bad. I needed to tell her I was glad she was alive, that she’d found us, and that I appreciated her watching over us, but I couldn’t.
“That boy tell you anything more about the Vixxes?” Wren asked.
I shook my head.
“His whole talk about the Vixxes being his aunties is a load of crapperjack. I know you and Sharlotte love him, but that boy is bad business, and if it weren’t for the money he’s promising, I’d grab him and sell him off. Get two hundred thousand dollars, easy.”
She could do it, sell another human being like he was a prize bull, collect the money, and not look back. Even though I’d known her my entire life, Wren had always been such a stranger. I swallowed hard. Tears crept into my eyes. Seeing Wren again was sad. She made everything so difficult. R
ight then, I wanted her gone. God forgive me, but she was too hard to handle.
“He still in the house?” Wren asked.
I gave her a long shrug and nothing else.
She didn’t press me. What she knew or didn’t, I couldn’t tell, but once again, only me knowing the truth felt like I was keeping her safe. I wonder if Micaiah felt that way when he kept his own secrets to himself.
“I should be getting back,” I whispered. “I’m not feeling well. They said I should’ve stayed in bed, but I got bored.”
“Yeah, we got shot up back at that office complex, but we heal,” Wren said. “We Wellers always heal real good.” Her eyes went to the ground, and she stood aloof, awkward it seemed.
Guilt stung me. I was being mean, and I needed to be kind. What would Jesus do with someone like Wren? Not sit sullenly or say mean things. I needed to reach out, but with Wren, too often when you reached out, she bit you.
Could I take her bite? I could. I’d spent the first part of my life with her teeth in me.
It was all so exhausting. Why was family so much work?
I wanted to be back in bed, eating chicken noodle soup, and reading about modern trains, but I couldn’t give in to my selfishness. I had to invite Wren back into the fold. She’d questioned my Catholicism, and surely, I needed to do the Christian thing. “Wren, come to the house and be with us for a bit. Just for dinner. Then you can come back out here and do what you do so well.”
Wren dropped her head. Her cowgirl hat covered her face, and her raven-dark hair hung stringy and filthy over the muted colors of the wool poncho.
I remembered what Pilate had said a lifetime ago in our bathroom after the funeral when I’d spent the night throwing up. He’d said that Wren was afraid of being a part of our family ’cause no matter how hard she tried, she always brought chaos with her.
“Maybe this time will be different.” I approached her like a spooked horse and slowly slid my hand into hers. Both our hands were hard, calloused to leather, but hers were softer, to my surprise.
I expected her to strike me or cuss me or march off to streak across the plain on Christina Pink.
She didn’t. She raised her head but didn’t catch my eyes. She looked off across the grass, mussed by the wind. The shake of the sagebrush brought the sweet smell of home to us both. Only for her, it didn’t seem sweet.
“Different? No, it’ll be the same.” Wren cleared her throat. “They have showers in the house?”
“Yeah.”
Wren patted my hand with her other. “You did real fine with the truck, Cavvy. Real fine. I’m even glad you went to that fancy school, and I never thought I’d say such a thing.” She sighed then pulled away.
“I’m sorry for pointing the gun at you,” I whispered.
“I accept your apology, Cavvy, but you be careful with that boy. He’s pulled us all into trouble deep.”
I nodded. She was right.
Wren fished out of her jeans the .45 caliber bullet that had almost got us caught. “You keep this, Cavvy. In memory of me.”
I didn’t like how she said it, as if she were quoting Jesus from the Last Supper.
Before I could say a thing, my sister grabbed ahold of Christina Pink roughly, finding her role to play again, always so tough. “You know I stepped on that stick on purpose, right?” she asked.
“Hadn’t really considered it.”
“Jesus, Cavvy, you have to be more careful and a lot smarter.” She grinned at herself, showing her ruined teeth. “And maybe I’ll work on my grammar.”
I had to smile, too. “You don’t have to. Your education has saved us again and again.” Yes, Wren was a horror show, a wreck of a woman, and yet she played the gunslinging hero so well.
Wren saddled up. “Remember that when you talk crapperjack about me behind my back.” She dug her heels into Christina Pink, and instead of going up the slow steady rise, she went right up the ridge, straight up, with her mare squealing, fighting, afraid she’d stumble.
She didn’t. Wren wouldn’t have allowed it. She knew all about taking the hard way out.
She cleared the top of the ridge, and Christina Pink’s hooves pounded the ground back toward Jenny Bell’s ranch. A dozen of our Herefords took to running away from her, spooked by her speed and the vibrations on the ground.
I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Wren might save her worst sins for her family, but more and more, I was seeing I did, too.
(v)
Back in the yellow room, the bed looked like a prison cot, so I sat by the window. I drew back the lace curtains and watched our cattle, our horses, our people. I felt such love for them, and I was glad Wren was with us. With Petal done shooting, we’d need every bit of Wren’s awful education to see us through.
Kitchen noises from below relaxed me again. They were so familiar, so much like home, like when Mama was still alive.
I was dozing when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” I said.
Pilate stood in the doorway, a little sheepish. We hadn’t said two words to each other since our fight. “I heard you went MIA even though the Regios are dying to find us in a lie and kill us all. Not very bright, but I won’t try to parent you. That ship has sailed.” He colored some, cleared his throat, and went on. “Not sure if you’ve heard the news, but Wren finally returned with her pistols and her sweet disposition.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The light from the window had grown soft with evening. I’d slept all afternoon in the chair, and I was feeling lazy enough to want more.
From downstairs a voice shouted up at us. “Cavvy! Pilate! Dinnertime!” It was Sharlotte, yelling. She sounded drunk. That couldn’t be though. Yeah, she’d been sipping on hot toddies, but Sharlotte drunk? Might as well call Sally Browne Burke a besharam besiya.
“Sounds like a party,” he murmured.
“Sounds like trouble,” I said.
We were both right, but I was righter.
Chapter Five
Ladies in Waiting—that’s what we call the brave women who were stranded in China, but we have all been waiting, waiting for the nightmare of the Sino to be over. Waiting to see our mothers, sisters, daughters, aunts, and cousins again. History books say the Treaty of Honolulu ended the Sino-American War on Easter Sunday, 2045. I say the Sino ends today with the return of these American heroes. Finally, both the waiting and the war are over.
—President Amanda Swain,
49th President of the United States
April 14, 2055
San Diego, California, on the landing of the U.S.S. Exodus
(i)
THE PARLOR DOWNSTAIRS overflowed with tables and chairs ’cause it was too cold to eat outside. Spring had tripped, and winter had stumbled over her. The packed house was hot, but I was happy to drown in the heat. The Regios were gone, and we were together again, all of us except for Micaiah.
Though it was good to see Wren with us again, she worried me. She was throwing back brown bottles of homemade beer as fast as Jenny Bell could bring them to her.
Wren stood near Pilate, a cigar drooping from his mouth. Jenny Bell must have found some for him. He wasn’t smoking it, but just having the cigar in his mouth seemed like he was courting further sickness. Yet, with the cigar and his Starbucks mug from Rome in his fist, he seemed like his old self, only he couldn’t look me in the eye, and a machine-gun cough kept rattling him. Petal was asleep in their room on a quarter dose of the Skye6. Pilate had taken over Petal’s new schedule. He also gave me a pill for my gunshot wounds, and it was working well.
We ate a huge meal until we couldn’t eat any more—beef ribs, beans, coleslaw, potato salad, corn bread, and rhubarb cobbler with more crust and whipped cream than rhubarb, which made it good.
We were all lounging around, letting our food digest in the light of the hissing sapropel lamps, when Pilate asked, “Well, Jenny Bell, I’m not complaining, but I am curious. Where did you get the coffee and cigars?”
You could’ve heard an ant’s breath in the quiet. Wren’s bottle froze at her lips. Pilate’s cigar nearly dropped into his lap.
And Sharlotte cursed. “Jacker me down tight.”
If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I wouldn’t have believed it. Upright Sharlotte had just cussed. Then I saw the mug in her hand—her hot toddy—the only liquor Sharlotte ever drank. Oh boy.
Before my sisters could say a thing, I spoke first. “We fought June Mai Angel three times, and she almost killed us all twice. How can you deal with that Outlaw Warlord?”
Jenny Bell tossed back a shooter full of rye and made a face. “You know why June Mai Angel and her girls are out here? Ever wonder why the Psycho Princess is psycho?”
“’Cause their mamas didn’t love ’em?” Wren asked. She’d passed through her fighting drunk to her mellow drunk. I wondered what kind of drunk Sharlotte was going to have.
Jenny Bell discussed the conspiracy like she was talking about her alfalfa crop. “President Swain knows her history. She knows what happens when soldiers come home; especially soldiers who have been away from home for too long. She sent the veterans to the Juniper by the trainload. Gave them a hundred dollars, which buys you exactly nothing out here, then waved goodbye. I must say, though, I’ve read her speech about the landing of the U.S.S Exodus. It was moving.”
“Ladies in Waiting,” Pilate whispered. It was what we called soldier girls who got stuck in China and couldn’t get home ’cause the world had run out of fuel. Vietnam had MIAs. The Sino had the Ladies in Waiting. Some were stranded for a decade until GE perfected their Eterna batteries. The U.S. used them to power the ships and planes to bring the veterans home.
Jenny Bell rolled her shot glass back and forth across the table. “Did you know President Swain could’ve brought the troops home sooner? But first she had to pass the SISBI laws.”
I’d only been in Cleveland a short time when I first heard about the Security, Identity, and Special Borders Injunction, or SISBI. The news had focused on the privacy issues, since it required all U.S. citizens to register eye-scans with the government. The law also gave the U.S. government permission to build a militarized border around the Juniper, though no one cared too much about that since the permanent EM field seemed border enough.
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